


Death and Dying

by Beware_The_Ravenstag



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: But they try, Codependant Relationship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, and i tried to make it like what you're supposed to do, ask to tag if i've forgotten anything, no one knows how to talk to mick, self-harm scars, the self-harm doesn't happen on-screen but it is directly talked about, unsuccessful suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 18:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12989712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beware_The_Ravenstag/pseuds/Beware_The_Ravenstag
Summary: Mick’s thought about dying lots of times. It comes with the job, after all.





	Death and Dying

****Mick’s thought about dying lots of times. It comes with the job, after all.

Best case scenario, of course, is getting burned alive.

Granted, it’s one of the more painful ways to die, but Mick can hardly think of a more appropriate way out. The fire birthed him, and so it shall kill him.

Next on the list of preference, and far more likely, is getting shot or stabbed.

_He’s argued with Len about whether there’s a difference between the two. Len says getting stabbed would be worse, but Mick thinks they’re about the same. According to 5e, bullets are slashing damage, so Mick decided to count that argument as a win. What was he thinking about again? Oh right._

Running in Central City gives a man some scars. Even normal criminals have their fair share, and they’re far less likely to go up against a literal, comic-book superhero.

_The Flash’s face had been surprisingly innocent, when he first saw it. He had such an intense melancholy about him, that Mick was reminded of Len on his bad days. No one so young had the right to look so beaten down._

Every method after that had been more or less equally likely, which is to say, not at all. Drowning? Mick doesn’t swim, as a rule. Poison? Unlikely anyone could get close enough to his food without him noticing.

 _Mick tended to guard his meals with such tenacity that even Len was unable to steal something off his plate_.

Quicksand? Surprisingly less of a problem in adult life that he had been lead to believe as a child.

But in the end, Mick know one thing for sure: he isn't going to die of old age. That’s just not in the cards. Men with families get to die of old age, going off into the great unknown surrounded by loved ones. They face the end with dignity, and the knowledge that their life amounted to something good.

Mick doesn’t have any ill feelings towards Detective West, not really, but he knows that when he dies, all of central Central City will mourn, and that the Flash and his wife will tell their children about what a great man their grandpa was.

Mick’s not a great man. He’s not even a good one.

In the end, he was right.

It wasn’t the fire that ended him, it was bullets.

It’s a quiet day, which Mick is thankful for. Every noise feels like an assault on his ears, and he can’t shake the quiet feeling that someone is standing right behind him, even though he’s sure he’s alone in the locked room.

Death by fire is theoretically possible on the Waverider, but there’s a chance he might hurt one of his teammates, and loathe as he was to admit it, he’d grown fond of the little bastards. Plus there’s the fact that all the char would be much harder to clean up.

Mick’s not quite sure if he’s awake right now. He feels like he’s walking underwater, every movement slower than it should be.

_Len had once described his depression as an oppressive emptiness, a complete lack of emotion and motivation. He was numb to a lot of pain, sure, but after a while, the numbness became the pain. Len doesn’t like to talk about it, but Mick knows that there’d been a couple of days where Len hadn’t seen the point in living anymore._

Mick’s experience is nothing like that. He’d felt that way on occasion, but more often than not, he just hates himself. It wavers in intensity, and he’s usuallf able to forget about it for a while and just have fun. But the good times always pass, and he’s left with the knowledge that he just doesn’t deserve to live.

He idly rubs a small, round burn on his left wrist. It’s old, smooth and barely-there, not part of the collection of scars on his back, shoulders, and upper arms. This is older, from a time when Mick still felt the need to hide BIC lighters under his mattress.

_Len’s face had been the worst thing to see after he found out about the burns. He wasn’t angry or condescending, like Mick feared. He didn’t even look at Mick with pity; he just looked sad. He’d taken Mick’s arms and bandaged them up, all the while saying nothing._

_Finally, he’d sat down next to Mick and showed him his arms.  The cuts were much worse than Mick had even gotten to nerve to do to himself- some of them looked like they’d been deep. Neither of them had said anything, but they’d both vowed that the other wouldn’t die, not on their watch._

Neither of them could really fault the other for wanting to shuffle off this mortal coil, but they let their selfishness form a safety net under them. Mick couldn’t die, because Len needed him. Len couldn’t die, because Mick needed him. Simple as that.

Then the oculus happened, and Len had died, and Mick just knew that his own death wasn’t too far off.

First he’d tried to find a way to die on a mission, but those damned idiot Legends kept saving his worthless life.

Now he’s come to this; locking himself in his room and putting a bullet in his brain.

Waves of self-hatred roll over him, like a punch in the gut.

He is a bad person. He’s done bad things. He’s worthless, and the only man he’s ever loved has killed himself for stupid, broken Mick.

The team might think they’re sad after he’s gone, but Mick knows that somewhere deep inside, they’ll be relieved. No one has to “babysit Rory” anymore, no one has to worry about him losing control, no one has to devote energy into pretending they tolerate him.

His heart is pounding now. His breaths are short and hard, almost doing more harm than good.

He’s written a note, not that it matters. It’s on the bench press where he’s been sleeping now that Len’s gone.

It’s now or never. If he waits a second longer he’ll lose his nerve.

One.

Two.

Thr-

Pain. Then darkness.

\-------------------------------------

Mumbling. Dark, distant, and low, like faraway thunder.

He was expecting something. Something- different. What was it?

His head is pounding like a motherfucker. He groans, and a cool cloth appears on his forehead.

Mick opens his eyes not first making sense of what he’s seeing. The world seems to be a blurry, white mess, but as he blinks more, Mick’s vision focuses, and he sees Sara, Ray and Amaya all standing around him.

One

Two

Three

Mick remembers.

He doesn’t say anything to his teammates gathered around the bed.

Sara’s face is tight with worry, like she’s just bitten into a lemon. Amaya’s face is carefully neutral, with only a slight crack in her mask, where her eyes are filled with pity.

Ray, though. Ray’s face is the worst. It’s an open wound of raw emotion. His eyes are red and puffy, and his normally cheerful face is contorted with grief.

Mick checks to make sure that he’s not actually dead, and yup, he’s not. Dead people don’t crave alcohol, he’s pretty sure.

He realizes that the four of them have been caught in awkward silence for over a minute now. Irrationally, this makes him furious.

“Well?” He demands, voice raw. “Any of you got something to say?”

When none of them reply, it only incites the flames of his fury.

“Nothing, then? Good. I’m leaving.”

He leans forward, planning to heave himself out of the medbay and barrel back to his room to regroup.

At that, Amaya steps forward and puts a hand on his chest. It’s gentle, not constraining, but Mick stops anyway. Amaya tilts her head and simply says “Please.”

Dammit. Damn him, for doing anything she says, and damn her for knowing it. He settles back down, but not without a huff of resentment. 

When she returns to her place by Ray, she has a very particular look on her face. Mick’s good with looks. This one says “I’m not giving up on you” and it makes him sick to his stomach with how much he doesn’t deserve it.

Sara says, haltingly, “Please… don’t try to leave. I don’t want to cuff you to the bed, but I will.”

Mick’s so tired, all of a sudden. “Fine,” he says. “Fine.”

Amaya removes her hands from his shoulders and puts them in her pockets, like she has no idea what else to do with them.

Sara sighs.

“Gideon said you didn’t have a concussion, but that you should stay in bed for a couple days, just in case.”

Mick just stares at the wall, dully. “I want a beer.”

Sara plows on, ignoring him. “Gideon also said that you tampered with her programming so that your room was one of her blind spots on the ship. She couldn’t unlock your door, so she enlisted the closest person to help you.”

Mick doesn’t reply, but when Sara pauses, his eyes flick to hers, curious about the end of the story despite himself.

With a glance sideways, Sara carefully says “... Ray was in his room working on the ATOM suit at the time.”

Finally, it all clicks into place for Mick.

At Gideon’s request, Ray had shrunk down and infiltrated his room, and had seen him holding a gun to his temple. It doesn’t take a whole lot of imagination to figure out what happens next. Ray had panicked, and knocked him out before he had time to think of a different plan.

Mick makes himself look at Ray. He’s not making eye contact with Mick, looking as guilty as sin, and that’s just so typical that Mick snorts.

Ray’s eyes dart up and meet his, almost affronted. “Don’t laugh. This- this isn’t funny.”

Mick rolls his eyes - fuck that hurts - and turns his attention back to Sara. “So what’s the plan now, Blondie? Keep me tied up in the medbay till I want to live again?”

Mick so desperately wants her eyes to light up with that fierce inner fire he’s seen so many times, but she just takes a deep breath and shakes her head.

“No, but we _are_ going to handle this. As a team.” Now _Sara’s_ looking him in the eyes, and Christ, this is more meaningful eye contact in one day than he’d had in, like, two years.

Sara walks around to the head of the bed and puts a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“I’m - I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mick. None of us noticed that you were hurting, and- and that’s bullshit. We should have been looking out for you.”

Amaya joins in. “I know I speak for everyone when I say that we’re all here for you, whatever you need.”

Quietly, from his little shame corner, Ray says, “I’d miss you. I’m glad you’re still here.”

Mick prides himself on his ability to deflect any sort meaningful conversation about his mental state or emotions, but right now, he’s helpless in the face of his friends’ simple yet earnest statements.

There’s a moment of silence as Mick processes what’s been said.

Then, “Snart and I, we were a lot alike. We kept each other steady. With him gone - it’s been hard.”

Mick snaps his jaw shut after that revelation, ears turning red and already regretting opening up. He’s about to open his mouth and add some kind of snarky, tasteless remark to shift the mood, when suddenly Ray’s at his side and looking at him with puppy-dog eyes about to overflow with tears.

“Mick, is it okay if - that is, can I-” Ray sighs, and just opens his arms and looks at Mick expectantly.

After a short second, Mick nods, and Ray leans down into a tender hug. It’s not overly long, or sappy, and for that, Mick is grateful.

Ray smiles weakly at Mick after he pulls back. Mick nods one, then twice.

Mick’s thought about dying lots of times, but somehow he’d never considered what would happen if he tried living.

Maybe it’s time to give it a shot.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolutely not meant to represent all people with mental illnesses, this is written from a very personal place and based on my experiences with depression and anxiety. Please let me know if I missed something to tag, this is my first time posting anything like this.
> 
> I don't have the motivation/ability to make this the drawn-out recovery fic it deserves to be, but I tried to end it on a somewhat hopeful note.


End file.
